To Save a Shield
by queenofowls
Summary: In a particularly nasty battle, Byleth tries to use the Divine Pulse to save Dedue, knowing he will die again and again to protect or avenge a certain broken prince. [Dedue/f!Byleth]


Dedue is dying. And it _hurts_. His hands are clutched at his stomach, slick with his own blood. He can hear Annette's distant scream for the professor and almost shakes his head. Perhaps if he had the strength he would have.

_No_, he thinks. _Don't call the professor._

He doesn't want her to see him like this, panting and weak, death at his door. He sinks into the mud of the battlefield and stares at the sky, his battalion gone. They'd abandoned him as soon as they had the chance, and for a moment, he idly wonders who had been protecting whom of the two of them.

And so... he realizes, he is going to die alone. It is most unfortunate, then, that it is not what he has imagined all along. He'd always thought that his own death would mean that Dimitri could live on. His sacrifice would be worth something, to pay back the life his liege had gifted him, but...

But somewhere on this battlefield... there is a single eye staring lifelessly into nothing, a back riddled with arrows along with the axe that Dedue had _personally_ watched cut Dimitri down. It'd stayed lodged in his body because Dedue had cut the kingslayer in two, and _that_ soldier had no need of an axe then.

His eyelids feel so, so, _so_ heavy.

Dimitri's voice flits into his mind. A conversation they had once upon a time...

_"Do you ever wonder about them, Dedue?"_

_"Your highness?" He looks at Dimitri with a question in his mind. Their class had been forced to confront so much death that lately he wonders if his highness would be okay in the chaos and slaughter. He could protect his Highness' body but... he is certain that he is unqualified to protect his mind._

_"Last thoughts. Rhea's seminar on the soul has made me ponder... what sorts of things one thinks of before death."_

_"I... see." He wonders how long Dimitri has been speaking on the subject because he didn't hear a word. His response comes slowly when it eventually comes. "I'm... not sure, your Highness. I certainly hope to never find out."_

_"Nor do I! Such things are perhaps too morbid to think on normally, but... I thought you would be someone who could understand why I wonder on them without worrying." Dedue nods solemnly in reply. _

_"I am... always glad to hear such thoughts." He dips his head in a formal bow, earning a sigh from Dimitri._

_"I would be inclined to express appreciation if I felt that you heard me at all." He looks at his vassal, curiosity lighting his eyes. "One day, you will tell me where your mind goes when you make that expression." Dedue's eyebrows furrows. He hadn't been aware that he'd been making an expression at all... but he clears his throat and offers a sheepish apology._

If only he could tell Dimitri now what he was thinking.

First, that he wishes that he were not dying.

Second, he is right about his regrets. He can see the former professor in his mind's eye. Cradling his head and stroking the blood streaked hair from his face. Looking at him with tenderness in those ghostly eyes. He could imagine her hands stroking his skin but he couldn't make himself feel them.

His throat is so parched. He is so, _so_ thirsty.

The scent of Duscur roses wafts towards him. _Should the smell of his passing be so pleasant?_ Something soft and silky tickles his face. Strands of hair wafting around him. _Ah_, he thinks. _I must be getting closer to death._ Before, he'd felt nothing, so if this dream has feeling, maybe his pain-addled mind couldn't distinguish between his reality and what he so desperately wished for.

"Dedue, don't worry. I'm here. I've got you." Oh, she is here, the goddess. Not a supernatural being, but rather, _his_ goddess. The only woman he would ever consider dedicating himself to, flesh, heart and mind. He thinks the thought freely as he pries open his eyes. Everything hurts but... he wrestles control of his body, forcing his eyes to stop roaming recklessly about so he can focus on her face. R eaching upwards with too weak hands, Dedue caresses her cheek, a streak of blood lighting on her pale skin from his own body. _Oh_. He's stained her. He feels filthy.

She is not so worthless as to be stained by something so low, but still... still, in spite of his imperfections, he cannot stop himself from stroking her cheek again. Byleth scolds him gently. "No, Dedue. You shouldn't move. You should-" He fumbles for the cloth of her cloak and tugs at it.

"Closer, please." His lips feel dry, so he only manages to say the first word and mouth the second. She understands all the same, closing the space between them. She isn't sure why he's asking, but she isn't ignorant for long. Dedue uses the last of his strength to pull her downward and press her mouth to his. The kiss is chaste. Weak. Pained. It tastes of dirt and iron. Dedue whispers as best he can and Byleth strains to hear him. "I'm sorry we couldn't..."

He trails off and gives up, wishing he had the strength to say more, but then... if he did, he isn't sure he'd know _what_ to say. He isn't exactly known for eloquence. Perhaps nothing but more is enough. He shuts his eyes, spent.

If there was any mercy to be had from dying, it would be that his brain was kind enough to give him this moment with Byleth to kiss before he disappeared.

The last of Dedue's strength disappears, his head lolling back into the mud as his life ebbs away.

Byleth cups the cheek of the man beneath her, taking a moment to press her forehead against the chest piece of his filthy armor. She forces herself to stand as, behind her, she hears Annette's choked sob distantly.

Byleth has had to kill many men in her lifetime. Even so, there have only been two times in Byleth's existence where she has _wanted_ _dearly_ to kill a man.

Just two.

The first is when her father lay dying, even as she tried to save his life. The memory fills her with hate, even now, but she tells herself that now is not the time to remember it. Not considering that the second time she has wanted to kill a man is _now_.

Right now, as Dimitri's corpse lays in the field, mere meters away, the consequence of charging towards a battalion of the empire's soldiers. It is no wonder then, that Dedue is the one who charged behind him to save his life.

Her armor is already slick with blood from the men she killed to steal this time with Dedue, her arms aching from the weight of her weapons. She has turned back time countless times, renewing her own allies while her own same body is worn down from fighting the same battle many times. How many times will she have to use the goddess' gift to save Dimitri's life when he so willingly gives it to the king's soldiers?

_How many times?_

Byleth grips the hilt of her sword and bites her lip to hold in the scream, yes, _scream_ of frustration she feels deep to her bones, right there on the battlefield.

She has tried everything but it seems almost inevitable. When Dimitri risks his life, Dedue dies in an attempt to save him whether his liege succeeds in making his attack or not. And when Dedue dies... she has to watch it happen again and again and again.

It's true that this last time is the first time he has kissed her-Annette's voice calling her had come far two late in his past three deaths-but it's the last straw. Only weeks ago, she discovered Dedue alive.

Only weeks ago, he said that he loved her and she had yet to return the favor.

Byleth shakes her head. She cannot do watch him die again. Before, she'd only taken a few steps back in time to reserve the goddess' power, certain she could find a way to prevent _both_ of their deaths and not just one or the other-but not this time. She will turn the handles of time so far backwards that when it comes to choose which troops will march towards death, a man so willing taste it would not be amongst their ranks.

She reaches deep inside her for the goddess gift. Then, she starts again.


End file.
